by Fiona Shaw
–Go on, say it, the girl said.
–OK. You know what’s the biggest difference between you and us? Jake’s voice was vicious, and he didn’t care. –It’s not where you live, or your expensive clothes, or even you not having a chip, ever.
He flicked the switch on the overhead light. He could see her now.
–The biggest difference is, you can go back home, he said against the choke in his throat. –The hub police would just take you home, and your very important mother, and maybe you’ve got a dad too, well, they might be very angry with you and everything, but they’ll still have you back. You might not like it, but it’s there, and it’s yours. All of us: we get caught, it’s a Home Academy. That’s it. Locked in. Secure rooms. Prison.
He knew he was going to regret it, but at this moment he wanted to hurt her like he hurt.
–Jet’s my only family in the whole of England, he said, –and if I get caught, I’ll never see him again.
He stopped and flicked the light off again. He’d said his piece. On the back seat Jet had woken up and he was turning round and round, like he always did when there was an argument. Jake reached back and stroked his velvet ears.
The train rumbled through a sleeping town, the street lights flicking against the dark.
The girl was still silent. She pulled Poacher’s beanie off her head and put a hand to her chopped-off hair. Jake watched her. She looked like she was trying to decide about something. Then she put her hands flat out in front of her.
–You don’t know my name, she said finally.
–What? Jake said incredulously. He’d had a real go at her, laid into her, angry enough to spit in her face – and all she was worried about was him knowing her name?
–My name, she repeated. –You haven’t asked me what it is.
–Is that a joke?
–No. She looked affronted. –But you would have asked, if you thought of me as a real person. If you respected me for who I was.
–Real person?
–Yes. Not just someone who’s posh. Someone who’s had all the luck. At least, that’s what you think. I respect you, you know.
Jake shook his head. –I don’t believe it. You sound like a blooming Citizenship class.
–I know all your names. Jake, Ollie, Swift …
–Yeah, all right. Jake put his head in his hands. This was unreal. Unbelievable. He half wanted to laugh. How had he ended up on a wagon with her? The anger surged again and the half-laugh died in him. –When we get off this train, I won’t have to see you any more, so no, I don’t care what your name is.
The girl looked down at her lap.
–What I care about … He stopped. The words hurt. –What I care about right now is that Martha is dead. I care about Jet, and my gang, he said. –I care that that Surfer and Scar woman are hunting us, cos they killed Martha already and if they killed us, they wouldn’t care …
He couldn’t see her face, but he didn’t care what she thinking.
–and no, I don’t care about you. I don’t trust you. You’ve had your little adventure now, so go home. You can tell your posh friends about it. Go on, jump off when the train slows down. Tell anyone who your mum is, they’ll get you home safe.
–I can’t, the girl said.
–You jumped on, so you can jump off. I’ll help you, if you like.
–I can’t. I found a memo on the kitchen table. Yesterday. An official one, and …
Jake banged a hand down on the steering wheel. –Hang on. You happened to find a Coalition memo on the kitchen table? He couldn’t keep the disbelief out of his voice.
–It was on the top of my mum’s work papers, so I took a phone pic of it, the girl said. –That’s why I went to the meet.
–You’re going to tell me next it was marked Top Secret.
–How did you know? She sounded surprised. –That’s what made me read it. Normally my mum’s work stuff looks so boring. I could’ve shown it to you with its Coalition stamp and everything, if your Poacher hadn’t smashed up my mobile. Anyway, how did you know it said Top Secret?
–Because my parents— Jake began, and then he stopped. Why was he even talking to this girl? –Doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the memo, or your mum. He turned to Jet, clipped the lead on to his collar. –Nice story, but I’m gonna find another car.
–You don’t even know what it said. The girl’s voice had gone high-pitched, like girls’ voices did when they got cross.
Jake reached for the door handle.
–And if you get out now, I’ll never tell you, she said. –We’ll get to Newcastle and I’ll tell Ollie instead.
–So tell Ollie then, he shot back. –This isn’t a game.
–No, the girl said, her voice dead quiet, –it’s not a game, you’re right. And I’m not playing. I wouldn’t be trying to tell you if I wasn’t desperate. I’d much rather tell it to someone who treats me like a proper person. Not like a bad joke. But I haven’t got any choice.
Jake wanted to shout at her. It was his gang who weren’t thought of as proper people. It was them who were the rejects, not her. Locked up in Home Academies, living as Outwalkers. But something stopped him. He didn’t want to feel this angry. He was just tired, and he wanted to find his grandparents and stop Outwalking. Nothing else was important.
He took a deep breath. –I do think you’re a proper person. Just … you’ve had a very different life. He didn’t sound like he meant it, but it was the best he could do.
She shook her head. –Not that kind of proper. What I mean is … She put her hand up against the window glass. When she spoke again, she was hesitant, stopping and starting. –All of you – dead parents, Home Academies, illness. You wouldn’t be doing this if you hadn’t lost so much already … Leaving your country, leaving anybody you’ve ever known, and you don’t even know what will happen if you do get across the border … Compared to you, I haven’t suffered anything. Not like that. And not my best friend dying like that. I can’t even imagine … She ran her finger down the window. –That’s what I mean.
Jake stared into the darkness. She sounded like she meant it.
–But it’s not a game for me either, the girl went on, –and if you won’t take me seriously because I’m posh, and because my parents aren’t dead, then you’re more stupid than I thought.
She scratched the back of her neck, then fell silent. Jake pictured Martha cutting her hair off. It must have been a shock. He could see that.
–I don’t know why my mum bothered having kids, the girl went on. –She’s never at home. She only cares about her Ministry and her stupid briefcase.
–What about your dad? Jake said, because despite himself, he was curious. What made a girl like this want to escape?
–He’s not around much either, but at least he’s not going to hurt anyone. He just writes about Shakespeare all the time.
–What d’you mean, hurt someone? Jake said. –Someone in your family?
The girl turned round and stared at him like he was daft. –No. Not in my family. I’m talking about the memo, of course. The memo you don’t care about. What it says: it’s sick. I was out of the house straight after reading it, but I couldn’t get down to the lowlifer tunnels because there were seccas everywhere, masses in the Tube, and I had to hide out. So the meet had started by the time I got there, and you saw what was happening. Noel handing out mandy like Smarties. Everyone chilled, stoned. I told them about it, showed the Catchpitters the phone pic I got. But they wouldn’t listen. Checker just laughed. And Gaz: Gaz was my friend.
–So what’s your mother going to do? he said.
–It’s not just up to her. She always goes on about how she’s part of a team that’s part of a bigger team, that’s elected by the whole country. So what she does: it’s done for the whole of England, and by the whole of England.
The girl couldn’t have seen Jake’s face in the darkness, but she must have guessed at what he was thinking.
–It’s like she’s
saying that nothing’s her fault. No responsibility because she’s only doing what her team has agreed.
–Yeah, Jake said.
–I think she really believes it, though, and I do get it, the girl said. –I understand her. But when it’s something that’s really wrong, really terrible: then I don’t think there’s any excuse. Doesn’t matter if someone else orders you. Doesn’t matter if your team all agree. Her voice was shaky now. –My mum. The Coalition: what they’ve done, there’s no excuse, and my Catchpitter friends. They were nice to me. Gaz was smart, really smart, only he’d never had a chance. And Checker was kind.
She stopped and fished in a pocket, blew her nose.
In the last few minutes the dawn had come as a thin bar of low light, and the rain had stopped. The girl had turned her head away and was looking out of the window. Jake saw trees, a church steeple, a barn, black against the rising light. He wondered how it would feel, to know your mother had done something bad. Something really bad. He thought how lonely the girl looked. And he thought that maybe he’d judged her wrong.
–Shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, he said.
–What?
–Something my mum used to say. She used to read a lot.
–She still read books? Actual books? the girl said.
–Yeah. Gently he tapped her shoulder. –My name’s Jacob Riley, he said. –What’s yours?
She turned back towards him, and in the dawn light he saw that she was crying. –Aliya Khan, she said.
Jake put out his hand. –Pleased to meet you.
Aliya swiped her tears away, cleared her throat. –I’m not crying now because you asked my name nicely, she said. –I don’t cry. Not normally.
–OK, Jake said.
–In fact, I don’t know when I did last cry.
–It’s fine. Plenty to cry about, for both of us.
Then Aliya told him what her mother had done.
Thirty-four
–They’re going to kill lowlifers, Aliya said in a matter-of-fact voice. –Use them for an experiment when they know some of them will die from it. That’s what the memo said. So the meet last night: it was a trap to catch them, and Noel – the one you called the blond Surfer – he and my mum are at the centre of it.
Jake gasped. This was worse than he’d ever imagined. Lowlifers were invisible people. Next to nobody knew they were there, living underneath London, so nobody would care what happened to them. They didn’t matter while they were alive, and it wouldn’t matter to anyone if they were killed.
It was horrible. He pictured the Surfers’ den: all of them looking up to their leader, and he was going to betray them all.
–But Noel, he’s the Surfers’ leader, he said. –I saw him in their den. That’s his life. Not someone employed by the Coalition. And you said your mother was in charge of borders. What’s that got to do with a bunch of stoned lowlifers underneath London?
–Noel’s both, Aliya said. –It’s called deep cover. He is the Surfers’ leader, but he’s also a spy. He used to turn up at our house at funny times, report to my mum. I didn’t know where he did his spying, but I do now, and he knows that I know. That makes me very dangerous. He can’t kill me, because of my mother, but he can kill you, and he will if he catches you. You should have been part of the experiment, and now your gang knows too much. Specially with me in it.
Jake shut his eyes. It was a lot to get his head around. He was bone-tired and he wanted, more than anything, to sleep. He wanted to stretch out in a clean, empty car, put his arm across his sleeping dog, and close his eyes to everything. But now Aliya had told him this, he needed to understand it all.
–Listen. Can you remember it? The memo?
–Scorched on to my brain, she said, nodding. –I’ve got one of those memories. Don’t understand it, but I can remember it all. Luckily, since you lot smashed my phone.
–So we could write it down. Show the others. You got any bit of paper?
She rummaged in her rucksack. –My school planner? Not going to need it now, am I?
On the cover in gold letters, her name: Aliya Khan, Year 9, Westminster Academy.
–Posh, Jake said. –We didn’t get paper at my school. He flicked through for an empty page, slipped the pen out. –Ready.
And in a steady voice, Aliya told him what had been written on the memo and he wrote it down.
Primary trial, Vacplus nano-microchip
anti-viral vaccine
cc. Rt Hon. Caro Fielding; Rt Hon. Ina Khan
Sample: lowlifer population
Sample size: 250-350
Delivery date: 29.05–30.05
Start: 23.00 hours
Location: sub-Covent Garden Tube station.
Inoculation measures ready: delivery team on critical footing
Nanotoxicologists on red alert Venue: established
Exit routes managed
Aftercare measures ready
Anticipated attrition/death rate: 20%
Authorization cleared
Media management activated
Signed: Noel Knight (Virus Management Facilitator)
Jake read back over what he’d written. He didn’t understand it all, but he understood enough. It was horrible. They were using lowlifers to experiment on. A death rate of twenty per cent. Twenty out of every hundred people. That meant fifty deaths last night. More. That was enough to know why Aliya was so desperate to warn the Catchpitters.
But something was niggling him, something he’d seen a few days ago. Then he remembered: the newspaper Swift had found in the motorway Services. There had been an article about the Vacplus vaccine.
–The newspapers said they were looking for volunteers to test the vaccine, he said. –But last night …
–Last night they were drugged, Jake. They couldn’t have volunteered.
She was right, he thought. He remembered the girl with the dreamy eyes, the gangs all dancing together. The people at the meet weren’t in a state to say yes – or no – and mean it.
–Now do you see why I can’t go home? said Aliya. –My mother is part of this.
Jake checked his watch. –Eight hours since we left the meet. They’ll have done it by now. Kept the whole thing underground, I bet, so nobody knows about it.
–I couldn’t make them listen to me, Jake. There were tears in Aliya’s eyes. –They didn’t believe me when I said the Coalition knew they were down there. We have to warn people. We have to let people know. It’s the only way to stop it. Her voice rose in a sob. –Fifty of the people we saw yesterday will be dead now. Gaz might be. I couldn’t make them listen! Her fist thumped the car window in frustration.
Jake felt cold with horror, but he had to know more. –But why?
–Because nobody cares about lowlifers. My mum thinks they’re worthless. Like vermin. She hated it when she found out I was friendly with some Catchpitters.
–How come? Where did you meet them?
She shrugged. –At a gig. They were wearing this cool gear and I got talking to Gaz and … But they’re not like my mum says, not at all. They’re amazing. I had to keep it secret cos she’d have grounded me. She didn’t even know I’d gone to the gig. She thought I was at my friend’s house. She’d have locked me in my room every day after that if she’d known. So I got really good at lying to her.
–Why does she hate them so much? Jake said.
–Because they aren’t honest, or hard-working, and they don’t contribute anything. It’s not true, but that’s what she says. So she must think it doesn’t matter if some of them die. Aliya’s words came out choked with sobs.
Awkwardly he put his hand on hers. A government that could do this to people … and her mum part of it. What would it be like, to have a mother like that?
–My mum and dad were working on a vaccine too, he said. –Least I think they were. But they wouldn’t have given it to a single person if they’d thought it might kill them.
Aliya didn’t move her hand from under his, but she
was crying more quietly now. –Lucky you, she said bitterly.
–Yes, he said, and he felt it. Even though his parents were dead. At least he didn’t have to be ashamed of them. Then a question came to him. –But why is the Vacplus vaccine so dangerous? He looked again at his page of notes. –Why would it be likely to kill so many people?
–Because I don’t think this is only about a vaccine, Aliya said. –I think it’s about population control. That’s part of my mum’s brief as Borders Minister. Otherwise, why is she involved? Vaccines aren’t part of her job.
Population control. It sounded so clean, so planned. Jake forced down his horror. Carefully he tore the sheet of notes from the planner, folded it and tucked it into his rucksack.
–When we get off, let me do the talking, he said.
Jake took the first watch while Aliya slept. She pushed her seat back so she was nearly lying down and she was asleep in seconds, her breathing slow and even. For the first time in ages, Jake was alone with his thoughts.
But there was too much on his mind, and his thoughts zigzagged with exhaustion, between his mother and Aliya’s, between the MailRail train and this chugging freight train. He imagined his old friends Liam and Josh dressed as Surfers, drugged and dying in a Tube tunnel, he saw Martha smiling and then serious. He could feel her hands in his hair, washing it before they went stealing, and he saw her leaning over the old stone bridge, telling him that he was a watcher. Like her.
He shook his head. He’d slept, he was sure. Checked his watch. Two hours still until he was to wake Aliya.
–Don’t think, he told himself. –Just watch. He pinched his hand, bit his lip to stay awake, and stared through the window and between the wagon rails.
The sun shone on golden fields and small towns, junkyards and reservoirs and farm houses, level crossings and cars, and horses and cows and people. Jake counted church spires and he counted wind turbines. He saw miles of polytunnels, and he saw green picking fields and lines of tariffed pickers in their blue and red coveralls crouched down, barbed wire fences around the field edges. Boys for fracking fields, girls for picking fields. That was how it went. The jobs that nobody wanted. That’s where the Home Academy children got sent, everybody knew.